The Garden of the 
Idle Mind 

SjV Isabel Moore 



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To one who knows 
''the blind bird in 
the hearf 



The Garden of the 
Idle Mind 

By 
Isabel Moore 



New York: 

Printed bv Roderic C. Penfield, 1600 Broadway 

1916 









22 iBK 



^ 



CONTENTS 

The Garden of the Idle Mind ... 7 

Maids of Honour 8 

Matrix 9 

September 10 

From a Bedroom Window . . . . n 

The Underland 12 

The Metal Flower of Mycenae . . 13 

The Song of Silence 14 

Fireflies 15 

Comrades 16 

Tides 17 

The Road TO Irish Village .... 18 

A Pagan 19 

Ghosts 20 

A Lament from the Portuguese . . 21 

To AN Indian Maiden 22 

Yellow-Dog-Dingo 23 

Echoes 24 

Witch Hazel 25 

An Indian Maid's Love Song ... 26 

A Dream 28 

My Garden 29 

A Vision 30 

Giants 31 

Death's Lullaby 32 

The Shower 33 

A Thanksgiving 34 

Departure 35 



THE GARDEN OF THE IDLE MIND 

(Published in Life, April 21, 1904.) 

The Garden of the Idle Mind 
A gentle pleasance knows; 

A lifting lilt with every kind 
Of wandering wind that blows. 

Within its fragrant dalliance 

I linger all the day 
To wanton with the madcap, Chance, 

In happy roundelay. 

And, when the twilight comes, I find 

A richer destiny: — 
The Garden of the Idle Mind 

With dream subdueth me. 



MAIDS OF HONOUR. 

The shad-blow maidens reach their snowy arms 
In sprays of blossom on the breath of Spring, 

So scantly clad, the dears, that at alarms 
Of that same breath they fall a-shivering: — 

Fair bridesmaids are they to the coming throng 

Of festal pageants that to Spring belong. 



MATRIX. 

Night is precious to behold 
Vaulted so vast and high :— 
Like matrix of lapis-lazuli 
Veined through with gold. 



SEPTEMBER. 

Summer is too young to die, and yet 

The purple hillsides brood 

In ample quietude 

That warns us never to forget 

The strength of Nature. Everywhere 

The goldenrod has reached its prime 

And droops: while, here and there, 

Gone glorious before its time, 

A crimsoning or russet branch 

Exults upon the air. 

Old squirrels look askance 

And whisk about with grave inconsequence: 

The sun-kissed corn stalks wait 

Their certitude of fate: 

Afar, unto the mystic marshland, 

The stubble earth yields precedence: 

And, flaunting a golden charm 

In the sea-breeze' sturdy face. 

With a whispering alarm 

Again, in turn, gives place 

To the wandering, aimless sand. 

Each day may be the last bestowed on man 

Of this year's ripe fulfillment. 

The waiting rapture of the hidden wood 

Breathes very gently, not to interrupt 

In ways of rude disturbance too abrupt 

The marvel, by us little understood. 

Of perfectness with tender sorrow blent. 

The mellow sunshine that in joy began 

Its happy life, is somewhat hazy now, as though 

A mist of unshed tears were in its eyes. 

All is complete. There is no glad surprise 

Such as June brings. Like a sad requiem each 

day passes slow. 
For a day only, or a week, shall see 
Disaster wrought of sheer necessity. 
As — when perfection e'en is perfected — 
It passes on to join the mighty dead, 
And thus enrich the fertile soil again: that Spring 
May her sweet tribute offer to another harvesting. 



FROM A BEDROOM WINDOW. 

Eastward toward the morning 
And the Hudson in its strength, 

With the river boats adorning 
Its winding, lordly length, 

Blue hills and forest ranges 

Greet the eye: 
Flecked o'er with shadowy changes 

When the winds pass by. 

Eastward, whence the dayspring 

Has its birth. 
Renewing life: and blessing 

The old earth. 

Blue and green and silver, 

— Nature's heraldry — 
So dawn preludes the sunrise 

And the pomp of day. 



II 



THE UNDERLAND. 

(Published in Smart Set, March, 1906.) 

Deep is the mystery of the Underland. 

''The air is gentle as the breath of love 

And winter is unknown. 

The sun is radiant, yet never withers, 

And stars dance in the breeze; 

While birds, like winged flowers, 

Come and go with sweet inconsequence 

From bough to bough. 

At sunset those who love can find each other; 

Youth is their dear companion; 

Death himself is dead.'* 

So spake Chief Opaleeta, brought back to life 
By those who wished him well but did him ill. 

And, often now, at sunset-time, when all the 

waiting world 
Is filled with pictures, do the people of his tribe 
Seek in the limpid waters of the lake 
A glimpse of that long cherished dream, the 

Underland: — 
Yet see they little, for their day is not yet done. 



12 



THE METAL FLOWER OF MYCENAE. 

A golden flower on a silver stalk, 
Found in Mycenae sepulchre. 

Whose were the hands, of all the Cy- 
clopes guild, 
To fashion that fair treasure? Whose 
The brain to plan it? Whose the feeling 
— Human, intimate, discerning — 
That prompted brain and hands? 

Ah, rarest flower! Thy metal is but 

symbol. 
Yet the symbol lasts: for many centuries 
Has lain, away from light and air, 
Within the secret tomb of well-forgotten 

kings. 

So now the symbol, come again to man, 
Breathes forth the spirit that knew it 
Actually. Also the fugitive spirit 
Of flower life, long vanished. And the 

meaning 
Of flower life in resurrection. 



13 



THE SONG OF SILENCE. 

(Published in Field and Stream, January, 1913.) 

The Silence sings to me a little song 

Of wandering wind, so lonely in delight, 

That, almost as it lingers, it is gone 

Adown the distant purples of the night. 

O, time of magic, and of night, and wind! 

Of forest depths and spaciousness of sky! 
In my hushed heart thy rapture is enshrined 

As the sweet song of Silence passes by. 



14 



FIREFLIES. 

Fireflies in grass that is grey with night; 

Brief drifting sparks of irridescent light 

No sooner come than spent; 

Yet from the great god sent, 

The god of light and life and fire; 

Seeking, seeking busily, higher and higher, 

— Instinct of flame — 

The sun from which they came; 

The god that gave them birth 

By mother earth 

Deep in the grass that is grey with night. 

Though refulgent with delight! 



15 



COMRADES. 

Silver Heels is a little boat 
That leads a life of vagrancy: 

Of all the craft there is afloat 
Silver Heels is the one for me! 

Over the water she skims with glee; 

Like stormy petrel she dips the wave; 
No other wanderer of the sea 

Is half so dainty nor half so brave. 

She ever answers the master-hand. 

Though a bit willful now and then, 
She's true and ready to understand 

The strange, shy whims of sailor men. 

A song she sings of what might be; 

A tale she tells of adventure bold; 
Sailing, sailing, — magically 

The song is sung and the tale is told. 

With the beauty of both my fancy reels ; 

— Song and tale of eternity — 
Never was friend like Silver Heels/ 

Sailing out to a chartless sea. 



i6 



TIDES. 

The tides of love that come and go 
From thee to me; from me to thee; 

I sometimes fear will overflow 
— Howe'er so strong the dykes may be- 
Engulfing us forever! 



17 



THE ROAD TO IRISH VILLAGE. 

[t's a dear old road that leads to Irish Village 
A^long the upper ledges of the sad, sequestered 
hills: 

Sleeping in the moonlight 

Or redolent of sunlight, 
'Tis surely panacea for the heart's deep ills. 

Strange big footprints wore its perfect turnings. 
Of quarrymen who long ago passed on to well- 
earned rest: 

Whose spirits perhaps wander 

Upon it now, and ponder 
O'er the silent beauty of its last bequest. 

Gone are the men who made it for the first time : 
Gone are the quarrymen who toiled its farthest 
space: 

Abandoned are the quarry holes. 

Filled with stagnant water pools. 
Hidden by the aspens that closely interlace. 

But the road leads on to the heart of Irish 

Village, 
Lying like a matrix gem near crystal-fringed 
stream. 
Man or woman seldom passes 
On that road of short-cropped grasses 
Near the edges of the ledges that o'erhang the 
land of dream. 



i8 



A PAGAN. 

The star-embroidered heaven is my tent, 

And hills my bed 

Of freedom, sloping to the seas: 

Dim, grey-green seas that wander to the poles 

Till all eternity unrolls. 

Thus Beauty ministers to my content; 

I rest — God comforted — 

Within her arms: taking my fill of ease. 

Who would not be a Pagan of the Night 

Camped, so, in primitive delight! 



19 



GHOSTS. 

Phantoms of faces haunt the phantom deep 
That long have passed unto their final sleep : 
Phantoms of ships long sunk and mouldered to 

decay 
Cross and recross their course of yesterday. 

Sad are the souls of ships that sail the main 
Without a hope of entering port again: 
Sad are the souls of men who never more can be 
Home from a phantom ship on a phantom sea. 



20 



A LAMENT FROM THE PORTUGUESE. 

(Published in The Reader, December, 1902.) 

In my silent retreat, 
From grief never free, 

All the birds of the fields 
Are lamenting with me. 

I join their lamenting 
In my silent retreat: 

Our cry pierces heaven 
And falls at God's feet. 



21 



TO AN INDIAN MAIDEN. 

O, Face-of- Flying-Shadow! 

In the clouds I see thy beauty 

Ever fleeing, never lingering: 

In the w^aters of the lake I see thee, 

See thee, hear thy gentle laughter, 

Look again — to find thee gone. 

In the silence of the forest thou art almost by 

my side, 
Yet, when I turn to clasp thee closer, closer, 
Thou hast slipped ofif with sisters of the wood. 
Among the grasses thou art ever dancing; 
Faint is thy tip-toe presence; I can almost see 

thee 
Bend aside the quivering greens and russets 
As the rhythmic winds are singing thy dear 

name. 

O, Face-of-Flying-Shadow! 
For a time thou mayest elude me by such art: — 
But thy face, O, Flying-Shadow, is the shadow 
of my heart! 



22 



YELLOW-DOG-DINGO. 

In a far land across the sea 
My dog lies buried near a tree: 
— I roam the world unceasingly — 
My dog lies buried near a tree. 

His face is turned to greet the sun 
And his long rest is but begun: 
— My lot to wander all alone — 
And his long rest is but begun. 

My dear dead dog in that far land, 
Now, as in life, you understand 
Most of what truth and love command. 
Now, as in life, you understand. 

When it comes time for me to die 
And seek the well-spring from on High, 
God grant that my dear dog and I 
May find each other in the sky 

And spend in love a perfect day. 
A cloudless day of spirit play, 
— In romp and glee and roundelay — 
A spirit day of tender play! 

My dear dead dog lies near a tree: 
Above hangs heaven's blue canopy. 



23 



ECHOES. 

There is laughter on the face of the rocks, 
Tossed up by the southeast wind : 

Laughter that is dewy with tears, 

Laughter that nobody hears. 

In the temple of ages enshrined, 

A myriad echoes of pulsating tumult 
Cry out through the pale green gloom 

To the dark that has never known light; 

Which abides, a perpetual night. 
In tortuous arcades of doom. 

Laughter and tears become quietly one 

At the close of a lingering day: 
And on the face of the rocks far above 
Are like wandering murmurs of love 
By the wind, in caprice, blown astray. 



24 



WITCH HAZEL. 

Hazel, Hazel, Witch of Autumn, 
When the world is breathing slow, 

Yellow-spangled pranks you're playing 

By your magic thus essaying 
A belated beauty show! 



25 



AN INDIAN MAID'S LOVE SONG. 

The new fire leaps upward! 

Leaps — licking and lashing my spirit — 

A demon! a god! 

At the root of the tiame is a radiance 

Steadfast, intense, everlasting. 

This is the soul of the flame, 

Irridescent, a-quiver, transparent. 

The heart of the god: the sword of the demon. 

Who knoweth his coming? 

He comes like a snake through the grasses: 

He comes like a fawn to the brookside: 

He comes like a star in its wisdom: 

Like a father of pity: 

Like a master of strength: 

Like the sweet breath of heaven : 

Comes the wonderful man of my love. 

Great is the beauty of yielding: — 
Should Death beckon to me at this instant 
Yet would I go : — with rejoicing. 

How ignorant was I! How ignorant! 

Till thou dids't reveal thyself unto me 

I lived in the shade: I thirsted and yet knew it 

not! 
I was alone — and wondering why! 
O, the day that thou camest to me 
Eternity cannot forget! 
O, the day that thou camest to me 
That day saw the birth of me! 
O, my beloved : What if the twilight shall meet 

us 
Some future time! This day will have been. 
The sap runs, the sap runs, O, heart-of-me! 
Heart of my heart! demon of love! god! 
Lap me and lave me in flame till I die! 

26 



Fog is resting on the mountains 
And the rains are close at hand. 
The plants will be growing and the fruit will 

be ripening, 
And when it is ripe it will fall to the ground. 
It falls because it is so ripe. 
The flowers are standing up, waving in the wind, 
But the time of rains will soon set in. 



27 



A DREAM. 

My lot in life is toil, 
My only pastime dreams: 
My joy is far as some lone star 

That coldly gleams. 

My journeyings are long, 
My leisure not begun : 
But who would cease to dream of peace 
That might be won? 

I wander all alone: 
I pass from year to year: 
And yet 1 may, perhaps, some day. 
Behold peace near! 



28 



MY GARDEN. 

There is a Garden in a far off land 

To which my heart, like homing pigeon, flies; 
And, faint with joy that few can understand, 

Settles into the lap of Paradise. 

Like morning dew all radiantly empearled 
Within the azure of a quiet day, | 

Far from the mazes of the blindfold word 
My happy garden is hid safe away. ^ 

Upon a margin of a southern sea. 

Among the beauties of an orange grove. 

Lies fast asleep this Garden that, to me, 
Is open sesame of all treasure-trove. 

My Garden, O my Garden of the South! 

Unto thy restful strength I long to fly. 
Once more to breathe the fragrance of thy 
mouth! 

Once more within thy tranquil lap to lie! 



29 



A VISION. 

The City of the Soul is terraced high 

Above the humid breath 

Of the shadow glen called Death, 

Where birds of sorrow hover nigh, 

Yet poised for ready flight 

Adown the deepening night: — 

Far, far upon the height, 

Clad in the beauty of its dreaming 

And touched by the hand of light 

Into a perfect seeming. 

The City of the Soul stands loftily 

Against a horizon of distant sea. 



30 



GIANTS. 

The opalescent mountains lie at rest 
Upon the great, bare bosom of the Earth, 
Titanic off-spring of convulsive birth. 

Like gods at leisure, with their fill of wine. 
They stretch their lazy lengths through storm 

and shine 
In deep repose, for cycles, on her breast. 



31 



DEATH'S LULLABY. 

Death sings: 

Sleep thou, O heart, so sad, so tired and broken, 
Lay thou confidingly upon my breast: 

Eternal peace will such an act betoken 
And perfect rest. 

Give up thyself unto my ready keeping: 
Trust but thine all unto my lullaby care, 

And on thee shall the well earned joy of sleeping 
Fall unaware. 

Within these arms, so strong, so true and tender, 
There is a refuge for thy weary head: 

What though the world thinks it a sad surrender 
And calls thee dead: — 

'Tis but the names of things that balk man's 
knowing. 

And hold him in a thraldom rank with fears: 
Then sleep that sleep, beyond all, rest-bestowing. 

Till dawn appears! 



32 



THE SHOWER. 

Like a cool and soothing hand 
To a fever-throbbing heart 

Th' hush of rain fell on the land, 
Glad to do its bidden part. 

Like a faint, sweet mother-song 
To a wearied child of day 

O'er the fields it passed along: — 
Then, as gently, crept away. 



33 



A THANKSGIVING. 

Let me lay aside my body with thanksgiving and 

my temporal affairs with joy! 
I will fold away my life as a used garment; soil- 
ed and creased is it so I never again shall 

wear it. 
The spirit of my thought and my emotion arises, 

purged and bathed, 
To go forth free, into pure air, space, past and 

present, time and eternity. 
Like th' ancient hero, I received strength from 

mother-earth. 
My body received strength by occasional 

contact: 
But now, my strength comes from within and 

from beyond. 
Meeting like electric currents. 
The cast-off body served its turn. Let it pay 

nature's debt. 
And, because this is so, I appreciate the past, 
Though finished with it: 
While I — / go forth — alone, and free! 
Never more am I to wear flesh garments: never! 

Gloria! 



34 



DEPARTURE. 

Children of Silence wander on 
The Terrace of Oblivon 
Where the hushed twilight deepens 
Into the purples of the final dark: 
And, out upon the ebb and flow, 
Children of Silence come and go 
With us, as we embark. 



35 



